Drumstrang's Tale
by FamRoyalty
Summary: After an attack on Drumstrang Institution, Hadrian Romanov is send to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete his fourth year. Dark forces are rising, along with dark buried secrets not meant for your ears. ((Inspired by Raven of Drumstrang written by Verkos.))
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: this story has been inspired by Raven of Drumstrang written by Verkos. Though thats the only connection that this story has with the other, as I have written this with drastically different views and story plots. I truly hope that you enjoy it.

**Warnings**: mere mentions of child abuse, gore, and blood will be shown in future chapters, if you're looking for that, you're in the right place.

**Disclaimers**: i do not own Harry potter, or their characters.

Summary: After an attack on Drumstrang Institution, Hadrian Romanov is send to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete his fourth year. Dark forces are rising, along with dark buried secrets not meant for your ears. ((Inspired by Raven of Drumstrang written by Verkos.))

* * *

**Remembrance**

_Thought you were beside me_  
_But i reached over and the ghost smiled_  
_Sometimes I see you, and I ask_

_Are you lost? _  
_Where are you now?_  
_Am I going to find you again?_  
_Are you alone?_  
_Are you afraid?_

_Now I'm reaching for you_

_Will i see you again?_

* * *

The tranquility held over the vast field made only perfect by the sun rays of the early morning.

Not something that many of the Isles would think when thinking of the dark Drumstrang Institution. It was made to last until the last century, old stone and bricks soaked in old magic by generations of previous students, and protective wards.

_"Take cover!"_

So it came to an icy shock when the it's fortress walls came under attack.

The thousand-year-old wards alerted, and rang throughout when the initiation attack occur. Too early from their schedules, students were half-crazed as the walls shook and trembled. Professors and guards stood in line as they dueled and battled outside the massive doors of Drumstrang.

_"Don't falter!"_

Spells were spilled in frenzy, half shouted as the battled rigged into a stall, more and more support from foreign ministries aided in battle.

_"Retreat!"_

It was over as quick as it begun.

It shaken the core of the stable of one of the most influential schools in Europe, a foundation that now stood in trembling ground.

Unlike the Isles, the countries and their respective ministries held each other in communication, and support. Any problem one had triggered the others into action as well.

But, unfortunately, it came too late for Drumstrang. Many unprepared students were caught in the claws of cruel fate from each side of the battle, drawn and slaughtered. Professors were hit the hardest, as many weren't even awake when the first wave of attacks occurred.

Now, it left the school in a crossroads. Too understaffed, walls broken and mere dust, broken bodies littering the once strong halls. They couldn't teach in such conditions, which now left the question;

What to do?

It became fairly obvious for even a blind man. They had to split the students, send them away to foreign schools or be stuck at home to be schooled.

This is where Hadrian Romanov came into the picture.

Orphan boy, left behind during the "war" with Voldemort, and held no ties to the Isles other than his birth. No one but a select few knew of his roots, much that no one particularly cared.

He held a high score, the word prodigy looming over his head, in dueling and defense, but apart from that, held an above average in other in his classes.

He's bright, and successful when putting his mind into motion, already being heir to the Romanov fortune and rich history. A heir, that a long with a good spoil of scandals, was now being held hostage by his "aunt."

"Now, Hadrian, remember your manners. Keep— Oh, for Merlin's sake! Please listen to me!" The woman held her silk skirt in desperation for her nephew. She huffed as the boy in question, finally, turns his attention towards her. The boats and student lines held his attention more.

"I'm sorry Auntie, I wasn't listening." Well, at least she can't complain he wasn't honest. It did little to sooth her nerves.

A deep chuckle flowed through, the man that watched, unmoving, amused at the scene. He knew how much the boy liked to ruffle her feathers. The man held himself proud, his clothes fitting and proper, even for a casual stroll in the Park.

Natalie turned to him, an exaggerated expression on her face. "Barton! Don't encourage!"

He blinked in mock confusion, and held a strong hand on his chest. "Why, you wound me! Such foul accusations on your beloved husband of ten years! The nerve!"

Natalie rolled her eyes, in an attempt to keep everything under the illusion of control, she tentatively placed her delicate hands on her child's broad shoulder.

His face is still too serious, and she found herself every night wishing for him to express himself more. But, like Barton said, its all part of the charm.

She could hardly believe just how big her baby has grown. Gone was that little runt with rosey cheeks, puffed wild hair, and timid eyes. That one held himself with wobbly knees, and too big shirt that almost swallow the poor thing, and when he turned his doe like eyes on them, they stood no fighting chance.

Her baby, like a strong tree, has grown and stretched into the horizons. Tall, broad shoulders, hair cut and slick back, with that too- serious expression. But, like any good mother, she saw the amusement he held inside whenever he witness their "fighting."

And the only remainder was that crude lighting scar, marring the perfect unblemished skin. Only a old family spell managed to hide such horrid, mangle remainder.

A reminder that this wasn't her child by blood.

She sighed, letting her hand and shoulders drop. She and Barton taught him everything he needs, he will be fine— no, he will thrive!

She just needs a little bit of faith.

"Please promise your dearest Aunt that you'll watch yourself? Eat healthy, and catch plenty of fresh air?" Barton placed his hand on her lower back, calming the ranting russian tounge before it got out if hand.

"Please let the boy breathe some air now! He'll be fine, he is a Romanov. Strong in blood, and strong in soul. He's the best of Drumstrag that he'll drag Hogwash into the floor." Natalie rolled her eyes at the School competition, honestly boys.

"Yes, yes. Oh— it's just, I'll miss you so much! Don't you dare forget to write to us, young man! Not one single detail out!" The bells of the boat heading for Hogwarts rang once, a clear warning of getting in.

She hugged her nephew again, holding tightly before stepping away. Barton —a man who only pats on the back with a compliment — shocked both when he pulled Hadrian into a bone crushing hug. He whispered something, before letting him go.

Hadrian said nothing, but his expression faltered when he turned watery eyes on them, and gave them a grateful smile.

Watching the boy go, and march into the boat, Natalie could only pray that her baby gets through the trauma. They held a therapist with him for a few days, not long after that he was drafted for Hogwarts.

She was half-tempted to pull him out, like many have done, bur Hadrian argued and stubbornly refused to see the therapist if he was pulled.

And now watching the boats dive underwater, along with other families that waved them off, she could only wonder how he'll take the school by storm. 


	2. Arrivals in a strange land

**Disclaimers**: I do not own any of the harry potter characters, just playing in this little sandbox of mine.

**A/N**: I am writing this as more of an side hustle than a priority, so please don't expect me to update every two days. Sorry. Also, here are some tags: wrong!boywholived, dark!Harry, ect.

**Summary**: Hadrian Romanov, or once known as Harry Potter, is in his first night in Hogwarts. And deals with unknown consequences.

* * *

**Arrivals in a strange land**

_Have you seen him?_  
_Shores away, I wonder if you see me_  
_In the waves_

_Away in the dark waters_  
_I see my reflection_  
_And I see my ghosts_

_Those the bottle carry my message?_  
_Do you still love me?_

* * *

Hadrian matched the expression of his fellows classmates as they arrived at Hogwart's lake. Its chilly, nowhere near Scandinavia, but enough to acquire to wear the school's heavy coats.

The sky is getting ready to set, as the last of sunset rays are fading and clouds masking the arriving moonlight as the warm lights of Hogwarts reflect off the surface. It's a grand castle, where its moving pictures do it justice. Even in the deck, the castle's relative size is humongous, with tall towers and stone trim windows.

It wasn't Drumstrang with dark walls and ragged mountains, but he muses it'll do. Where mountains rose and guarded, here, hills and valleys reigned.

It's weird, being in a place where you hear so much of, yet never really image.

A fellow classmate snorted, turned on his heel and went back to his shared room. He didn't blame him, Hadrian heard he was rather close to the previous Highmaster Karkaroff. A former "death eater" that was killed during combat, a poorly thrown spell in the wrong direction and the man was dead.

A rather anticlimactic end to a man of many stories.

Hadrian could care less. The man was often too strict with new students, straining relations with other proffesors. Now, Highmaster Kirillovich ruled and oversaw the reconstruction of Drumstrang, while their students were spread out in Europe.

The bells rang and cannons boomed, he could already see the small body of people gathered around the docks. Hadrian strained to see what was so shocking about the lake itself, as many of Drumstrang students were bowed over to see. All he could do is sniff, the smell of ocean and wet wood is enough for one lifetime.

But one thing that did impress him was just how much _purple_ a man could possibly wear.

Albus Dumbledore held his arms in a welcoming manner, along the committee in charge. Hadrian was impressed, though, he never knew one could grow their beard into such a extensive length.

"— And we welcome you to Hogwarts! School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please follow us to tour you to this institute, you'll find it has many hidden treasures to those that look."

Hadrian tuned out whatever else the man was saying, all he really read from his lips_ were my name is bubble bee, and you killed my father._ But, really, he doubts that's what the man said, even though the bat-like man beside him has a frown that rivals inigo montoya. Only in a few months, and the school will be open again for all students to return.

Finally, they turn the corner to find the huge wooden walls, where the welcoming committee left them outside of. Rude, but maybe its for the best, as every few moments the muffled cheers and claps would irritated his ears.

"What do you think of all this?" A heavy accent of one Regory Drovong talked over the other students whispers. Hadrian frown, all of them knew what he felt of this nightmare school.

"That all of this will be over in a few months."

All conversation was cut short, as the man from their "tour" finally opened the heavy doors.

And, for the lack of proper words, its magical.

Old arches that reflect the outside sky, reaching high and above. Floating candles, short and long, floating aimlessly through the hall. And the glorious excessive amount of food.

There's a certain magic in the air, that leaves a taste heavy in his tounge. With colorful tables of rows of students all whom where staring at them. Whispers of hummed conversation followed with attention seeking eyes taking their appearance.

The energized air smelled of excitement, and tightly recoiled suspense.

As they marched in, heads held high, Hadrian almost snorted from the boys before him almost preened from all the attention they were receiving. They must show how Drumstrang carries themselves, Barton told him one night, after the attack.

Hadrian could almost smell the subtle scent of his cologne, as he squeeze him;  
_Do us proud._

"And now we welcome the Drumstrang students! Please, once your name is stated, sit on the stool and you'll be sorted into your house." Sorted? How will sitting in a wooden stoll sort them? He saw a stern woman, with her hair pulled into a bun, hold a old, raggy hat in her hands.

He casted a glance at the table, there was a man with a fake eye that seemed to have a life of its own. The sneer-man who escorted them through the school, and a half-goblin?

Hadrian turns his attention of his future sorting, do they have to reach in and pull out a bagde? Is that how British sort their people?

"_Adriano, Daniel!"_

He stepped foward, marching with purpose, even though he has zero idea why, with a confused frown bringing amusement to the students, as he sat stiffly in the old stool that seemed too small for his frame. Daniel jumped, before the hat moved, and shouted:

"RAVENCLAW!"

_This is the fabled sorting?!_

Well then, Hadrian grew up in a magical household, he shouldn't be so surprised. As more names were being rolled, and houses shouted, Hadrian couldn't help but look at the house of red and gold.

He caught sight of messy hair, hair too similar, too familiar and Hadrian snapped his head foward so fast he was surprise he didn't get whiplash.

It's logical, of course _he_ was born here, it's fair and logical to see _he'll_ be here too. But that didn't stop the bitter taste he got when he caught sight of that stupid, fucking, hair.

"_Romanov, Hadrian!"_

He'll save those thoughts for another day, as he walks over, suddenly so aware of his muscles swinging and moving, holding his own head high, he walked crisply across the floor, setting himself on the stool as the hat was lowered.

_Just like his Aunt taught him._

As the large brim of the hat covered his eyes, Hadrian wonders when his life as gotten so uprooted.

"_It'll be fine in the end! Why, in my time_. .

Hadrian straighten, not jumping, when a old rough voice abruptly filled his head. Its like listening to headphones, almost. What the hell—

_Ha! You aren't the only one that thinks that. Now, where to put you? You have a nack for knowledge, but you don't crave it._

_You're bold, and brave, though you almost never act on it._

_You're very loyal, you'll be fine there, expect. . . Yes, now I see._

Hufflepuffs?! No, Hadrian will not go to the House of the Loyal, no. Not when he will be —

_There it is! Those ambitions, your restrains, yes. You'll be fine in—"_

"SLYTHERIN!"

But as the hat was being moved, a whispers faintly told him_ good luck, Mister **Potter**_ before his sight was on the grand hall once more. His feet feel like lead, but he marches on towards the green and the silver. The tunnel vision made him tumble on an uneven stone, thankfully his balance made it look more of a hop than a mistake.

Hadrian spots many of his fellow classmates there, but most are scattered throughout the the tables. But that whisper. A freaking whisper of a forgotten name. How does a old hat even know? He himself let himself almost forget, the name being more and more like a distant memory than his own name.

Does anyone else know?

"So, how's Drumstrang compared to Hogwarts?" A boy, with bleached blond hair, on his left side asks. Maybe its pure childish curiousity, but he knew better to assume.

"A very educational round", Hadrian's eyes looked away from the other boy as he had spoken, and realising this, he forced himself to look stronger than he felt, and make eye contact, "but for being here for one day, I must say that your Headmaster certainly knows how to dress."

The boy looked taken aback at his bluntness, his features stuck somewhere between calculating and considering a blush. Others shuffled and laughed, his comrades merely giving a lazy look.

"Yes, unfortunately", he trailed off, hesitating for a moment further before he offered Harry his hand, "My name is Draco by the way. Draco Malfoy"

He took the offered hand, grasping it firmly with his own, "I'm Hadrian, but please, call me Harry"

As they both shook hands, the touch of his hands were clammy, where a thin layer of sweat coated it, but had surprisingly a strong grip for someone young.

"_Romanov, has the Highmaster written to you, about the school?"_ Hadrian turned to his Russian counterpart, all Drumstrang students huddled around each other, a pattern repeated no matter where. He could see the subtle surprise of the Hogwarts students, but the sharp attention it cause among their own.

_"In a months we'll be back,"_ The visible relief oozed, the group emotions so easily oberlapped and manipulated.

The attention redirected itself back to the Proffesors as the Headmaster started to speak again. Of an big honor it was to have the students, yada, yada.

"— And we'll be playing host to the first re-emerged Triwizard Tournament! —"

Well, at least this year won't be too treasonous.

* * *

_Doe-like eyes stared upwards to the bare woodwork of the cobweb covered "ceiling."_

_He's so hungry. Too hungry, never has be been this strained out. It never got too far, but this is too much._

_His belly aches, and no amount of soothing touches does anything to fill it. Harry wants to eat. Wants to go. Go. And never look back._

_He reaches out, his tiny hand not even reaching the wood when the door flings open, wide-eye he gasps as —_

Startled from his slumber, Hadrian 'Harry' Romanov felt himself shoot up into a sitting position on his bed, with a thin layer of cold sweat coming over him, plastering his fringe to his forehead, as he fumbled about for his glasses, which had been left on the small table next to him.

But in his stupid haste, knocked them into the stone floor.

He was just glad no one was there to watch as he had to grope around blindly on the floor, in his attempt to find them.

That, he acknowledged, would've made a spectacular first impression upon his new, potential housemates and peers.

Which were fast asleep, not a noise disturbed them.

The actual room was dark, and deserted, as many of its inhabitants are asleep Hadrian walked lightly in the stones, and unceremonially deposited himself in the old furniture.

He needed to review:

He needs to deal with the Boy-Who-Lived. Killing him will just crumble the British society, with their already weak system, who knows if they'll make it. But, maybe just. .. give a push in a wrong direction.

Then, he needs to take over Hogwarts. Social latter won't be difficult, good manners, polite smiles, and firm handshakes will only get him so far.

His throat was itchy, stones weighting in his eyelids, and Hadrian in the darkness of the room, plotted the conquest of Hogwarts, fell asleep for a second time.

* * *

**On a final note, I'm writing other Harry Potter fanfictions, so if you do enjoy my style of writing and want to see something new, go check it out. Also, sorry if it feels too rushed.**


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